The Duty (Play to Live: Book # 3)

by D. Rus

  Our negotiations were interrupted by the crashing sound behind my back. I turned round. Oksana was pounding the wall with a heavy hammer, her dusty face streaked with tears, putting all her desperation into her effort. Without waiting for their orders, several raiders rushed to help her. Soon part of the fresh stonework collapsed, and so did the first bricked-in prisoner. It was a young boy, unarmed and in cheap armor, his hands and feet bound tight together with the thickest wire I'd ever seen—you'd need some special blacksmithing tools to untangle it. Scumbags.

  I turned back to the prisoners. Something must have changed in my face as they flinched, shrinking back.

  "Now I'd appreciate you giving me half a chance to take back my previous offer," I hissed, glaring at their hateful faces. "I'm dying to get one over on Qin Shi Huang, the first emperor of China and his ten thousand-strong Terracotta Army. And to build it, I won't need a million workers toiling for forty years. All I need is some concrete and enough stubborn enemies to dunk into it, then enjoy the resulting statuary."

  Oh. Could it be that history did repeat itself? Wonder if the past had already had its own Immortal Ones that had to be preserved in a similar way?

  I swung round, not listening to a torrent of abuse directed at me, and headed for the cloud of dust by the wall that emitted the clanking sound of steel against rock.

  "But us, how about us?" I heard the discord of a few reluctant voices. "What's gonna happen to us?"

  Dammit! I swung round and headed for the rat hole which was the name the raiders had given to the enclosure where we kept the turncoats. I peered into their anxious faces. Months and sometimes years in perma mode had left their mark. These were cartoon avatars no more: you could see a person's dominating traits bleeding through the mask—cunning shifty eyes, the wet stare of an eager bedwarmer, a restlessly sniffling sharp nose, fidgety fingers—each person with his or her own story. Not much but enough for a good judge of character to keep him in work for a lifetime.

  Not all of them were conscientious collaborators; some were simply too weak to resist. Even that wasn't quite true: anyone would break down when tortured. There are no silent heroes; there are bad torturers. Whoever doubts it can ask a friend to draw a large file across his teeth a couple of times, then multiply his sensations by eternity while the sadistic jailers turn him into a toothless old man. It was lucky that AlterWorld blocked all sensations above the pain threshold, but still...

  I didn't have time to separate the wheat from the chaff, meting out punishment and pardon. With a sigh, I waved my hand, "You're free now. Go pick up your stuff and collect your ten gold traveling expenses from the treasurer. That should be enough for a week if you spend it frugally. Then just go. If you don't feel like meeting up with your ex employers, a portal to the Russian cluster will open in twenty minutes."

  They spoke all at once, discussing my proposition, while Bianca elbowed her way through to me. "I need to get home too!" she announced, proudly raising her head.

  I turned to Widowmaker. "Poland? Is it really in our cluster?"

  He shook his head. "Nope. AlterWorld is divided into clusters by language groups. The fewer people speak your language, the smaller the initial cluster. All the new European states were given privileged treatment. All their dominions are clustered together like grapes on a vine so that the Frontier's lands are literally shredded in places. The Poles have a rather modest oasis about twenty miles in diameter with about a dozen settlements of various sizes and importance."

  "And if, alternatively, a quarter of the world speaks your language? Like English or Spanish—or Chinese, for that matter?"

  Widowmaker shrugged. "The more the merrier. It's a numbers game. English speakers have a cluster with a radius—not a diameter!—about eight hundred miles. Dozens of cities, including capital ones, hundreds of unique locations and dungeons. You don't want me to explain to you the game developers' priorities. Nominally, the AI offers equal opportunities and objective treatment to all groups but I have a funny feeling that this treatment is slightly calibrated in favor of the English-speaking community. A couple of extra mobs per square mile, a hit or two fewer and a slightly heftier reward. Before you know it, the virtual cowboys might be one up on everybody else."

  His soliloquy was interrupted by a fuming Bianca. "I thought I asked you a question!"

  Widowmaker didn't even wait for my reaction. The answer was too obvious. "Sorry lady, this isn't a quiz show. So if you're so desperate to speak the language of the great Andrzej Sapkowski once again, you'd be better off checking your grave, then waiting for the portal to take you to the land of drunk balalaika-playing bears. Then all you need to do is walk north for about four hundred miles."

  The nearby mercs grinned; some guffawed. Bianca made a face, shook her gorgeous mane of hair and swung round, heading for the castle graveyard. As she walked past, she hissed a very cinematic phrase you usually hear at the end of a movie episode,

  "I'll remember that!"

  Yeah, yeah. Good guys saying I'll be back, bad guys saying You'll pay me for that! I'd always wondered why with these words good guys normally smiled inanely instead of finishing off their enemy there and then, seeing as he'd shown his true colors. Then in the next episode the hero would be honestly surprised when a sniper's bullet had missed him or a cop visited him with the bad news that the hero's entire family had just died in a car accident.

  This wasn't Hollywood, though. "Freeze!" I barked.

  She startled and cast a harassed glance at me. Those months and years in slavery had taken their toll. The proud Polish girl was broken...

  "Don't you know where to stop, you stupid girl? Are you trying our patience or something? We're only letting all collaborators go without punishment because we have absolutely no time to look into their situations. Some may have soiled their names with treason while others may have just stumbled. But you, lady, we know a thing or two about you. You volunteered as an informer; you slept with your employers; you grassed your fellow workers up; you didn't join their escape attempt. And now you're grinning at us, openly declaring yourself our enemy? Well, you said it."

  I nodded to one of the mercs guarding the turncoats. "Take her outside. No compensation, no right to pick up her stuff. Let her go back to her employers. I don't need to be stabbed in the back."

  The merc took Bianca, numb with indignation, by the elbow and escorted her to the gates, giving all the other warriors a reason for intense envy as the girl had immediately come to her senses, struggling and spewing expletives. Her attempts to break free caused the merc to fight back to his apparent satisfaction as he tried to restrain her barely-clad statuesque body.

  I watched them leave, then crouched in the shade. I'd finally decided to engage the Vets in my dealings with the slaves. I only had one head, after all, one that offered me no experience in exposing all the moles and planted spies. Besides, I simply had no time to question a few hundred people personally, checking everybody's backgrounds. Not to mention my inability to process this volume of data. It was already good I'd managed to lay my hands on the juiciest bits like the maps, for instance. I knew of course that the Vets wouldn't do it for nothing: they'd milk the slaves for everything they were worth and more than likely would keep the best of them. Still, it was better the Vets hired them than they went somewhere else. I also hoped for certain virtual freebies like an improved relationship and a certain dose of gratitude for my granting them access to fresh human resources. The Vets needed them really badly as their current forces were spread thinly over their four castles.

  So all expansionist plans went on the back burner, replaced by projects of economic and social development, all brushed and dusted and long awaiting their turn. This wasn't good or bad—this was predictable, a classic development spiral where a warrior emperor was succeeded by a wise manager king whose job it was to integrate newly conquered lands into the empire's economic structure.

  As I pondered over my letter to the Vets, the dwarves had formed two
lines past me: going one way loaded (they weren't called mules for nothing) and coming back empty-handed. Widowmaker waited nearby. Suddenly he broke into their frenetic movement, pulling out a dwarf loaded with a massive armchair with cabriole legs. Don't ask me how it had ended up in Asia. Widowmaker nodded at me, then stuck his thumbs behind his belt and froze again, busy monitoring a dozen raid channels.

  I made myself comfortable in the chair, shaking my head at an inventory tag the fastidious dwarves had already fitted it with. Then I continued my exercise in diplomacy. I described the current situation and the gist of my offer, outlining its potential prospects and my own interests. Finally, I attached the preliminary list of displaced persons and the contacts of Sergeant Major Zaruba as the one responsible for their accommodation.

  That seemed to be it. I clicked Send—and received an answer immediately. How was it possible?

  I opened the message. I'd been wrong. Apparently, one of the castle defenders had sussed out the raid leader's name and reported it up the line. These were the Shui Fong clan representatives making contact with us.

  Chapter Ten

  From coded gaming correspondence sent through the private message forwarding company AlterName via a chain of one-time sender accounts.

  To an unknown recipient within the Olders clan.

  Father,

  Thanks a lot for getting me out of this high-security ranch. I didn't at all enjoy the prospect of staying there for another twenty years. Admittedly, your British friends aren't a bunch of laughs. They're just so buttoned up and so preoccupied with their global responsibilities, you can't imagine. I can't even start to describe those two so-called bodyguards who annoy the hell out of me. But I promise you now, as I did when we last met, that I will endure it all with dignity, as long as you stick to your part of the deal and give me the Bday present I asked you for. You remember that idiot who fucked up my brilliant business? Well, I want his head on a silver platter, garnished by the scalps of all his loved ones.

  Yours,

  Tavor

  To an unknown recipient in Castle City of the English-language cluster.

  My son,

  It pleases me no end that you seem to be growing up. Time to get serious. Even though the business succession and inheritance problems don't worry me any more, I deem my family and clan reputation all the more important. Our absolute personal immortality forbids us from leaving any public insults unpunished. If we do, we risk losing people's respect and their ability to consider us as partners.

  It wouldn't be so hard for us to find your arch enemy's pressure points. Don't forget that we used to handle all of his texting, bank transactions and Internet services—which gives us perfect access to them. Our initial research has come up with three female figures we could target in order to hurt our client the most.

  This is your revenge. I'm not going to interfere. Please find attached the experts' contacts as well as letters of recommendation. No amount of money or fame could force them to work with an outsider. Talking about money, I've topped up your City bank account. You shouldn't experience any financial concerns for a while.

  * * *

  "To the leader of an unidentified raid group from Prince Cao Cao, the deputy leader of the Shui Fong clan: We demand you reveal your alliance identity and reasons for the unmotivated assault."

  Aha. The tiger had run away at a safe distance and cast a cautious sideways glance at his enemy. And it entirely depended on us who he was going to see there.

  "This is the Russian cluster's combined services squad tasked with the liberation of your slaves. Our intelligence sends us reports of your use of slave labor. We demand their immediate liberation with a one-time portal to their native lands."

  "You idiot laowai! These losers are being used by anyone who bothers to go and get them. We want you to clear the Shui Fong 7 castle premises ASAP. Take your men out, stay put and just wait for our representative to discuss the amount of compensation for the losses suffered by the clan. And call off your mangy cat!"

  The latter was said rather nervously, spoiling the effect from the warrior's arrogant speech as he must have realized that the clan had been challenged by some visiting raiders and not the local toughs. In confirmation of his words, my PK counter floated into view. Several kill messages rustled open.

  Congratulations! You've received achievement: Executioner

  You've destroyed 50 enemies within 24 hours!

  Bonus: An executioner is but a tool in the hands of justice that guides his hand. Now your faction relationships will remain unchanged regardless of the race and alliance of a killed player.

  Congratulations! Achievement upgrade: Elite Executioner

  You've made the TOP 100 of the first AlterWorld players ever to receive the title. Current ranking: 076. Fame: +500!

  Bonus: Regardless of the race or alliance of the killed player, your faction relationships will improve.

  Congratulations! You've received achievement: Unmercenary.

  Your unselfishness is unprecedented! You have caused 100 enemies to drop an item without once succumbing to greed by picking up any blood-stained loot.

  Bonus: Your inventory is now protected from greedy hands, too. No one will be able to remove as much as a copper ring from your body.

  Congratulations! Achievement upgrade: The Holy Unmercenary.

  You've made the TOP 100 of the first AlterWorld players ever to receive the title. Current ranking: 001. Fame:+1000!

  Bonus: a holy man doesn't need to contemplate earthly matters. The Universe will take care of his needs. Now all items dropped by your enemies will move into your bag automatically.

  I kept reading, taking in the lines of text as my inner greedy pig spread his front legs wider and wider trying to describe the size of the freebie we'd just managed to lay our hands on. In the meantime, the abandoned Shui Fong messenger kept raging in the chat.

  I minimized the windows without closing them: I wanted to have another look at them later to get a better idea of what had just happened. "Enough," I put an end to his litany. "The kitty has his own accounts to settle. He'll kill until he considers himself done. You should be happy we only borrowed this young kitten from the Small Pride. Had we brought the entire pack, we wouldn't have even needed to storm your castle. The cats would have trampled it to the ground."

  I just hoped my fantasies sounded believable. It was impossible for them to verify the whole story, anyway. As for the panther, he had to be now busy making quick work of the reluctant gangsters. So I went on applying pressure,

  "We've taken over the castle. As a disciplinary measure, it will be destroyed. All the slaves have been liberated. Seventy-three of your clan members have been taken prisoners. They are forever banished from the sight of the divine Macaria but they can be exchanged for Russian-speaking slaves on a one-to-one basis. You have an hour and a half. These are our final and indisputable conditions."

  Unwilling to listen to the flow of threats and curses that followed, I switched off the voice channel leaving the chat session active. Still, the Prince was too wound up to leave it alone. Now he was threatening us with all the weight and authority of his Chinese cluster's TOP 50 clan. I just ground my teeth, fed up with all of today's haughty faces and commandeering voices.

  I switched back to the chat and decided to tighten the screws. "Now I'd ask you to shut up and listen. You still don't know who are you talking to, that's why you chose the wrong approach from the start. If you think that your dignity doesn't matter when you speak to a nonentity like myself, you're deeply mistaken. As far as I'm concerned, you've lost face. I'm not interested in you as a negotiator any more. I'm doubling the ransom and will continue to increase it every twenty-four hours or at every instance of your administration's incorrect behavior. Over and out."

  I closed the channel and blacklisted it. They'd have to find another negotiator, not quite as arrogant. No, I absolutely couldn't allow them to apply pressure on us, taking the domineering stance of a resp
ectable clan dealing with some white trash. Our strategy was entirely different. This was Justice paying evil-doers a visit. We had to work on our reputation so that later it started working for us.

  Seeing that I'd finally shaken my head, coming back out of the trance, Widowmaker ran over to me. "Sir, the prisoners have come to a consensus. They agree to surrender their weapons in exchange for an access to their inventories."

  I detected a note of respect in his voice: the First Priest had done it again, squeezing two more cupfuls of water out of his dry washing.

  I nodded, satisfied. "So they should. Better to sacrifice a little but keep the bulk of their gear. Had they dug their heels in, they'd have created problems for their own clan that would have had to urgently re-equip fifty elite warriors; not even mentioning that their own positions would have been compromised. I'm pretty sure each of them has an impatient rival drooling over their place within the clan. It could be some kind of trick, of course—I wouldn't put it past them; alternatively, they could be waiting for us to make a mistake. You know what? I want you to treble security and provide a team of five to accompany them to the graveyard one prisoner at a time, with orders to restrain him at the first attempt to put on an item. Once disarmed, bring them here and put them back face down, hands tied behind their backs. I can't see any other option."

  They start getting their act together. Soon a team of five mercs, as alert and suspicious as a customs hound, escorted the first hunched figure to the nearby graveyard. Time ticked by. Other raiders must have sensed my anxiety as they hastened their step, doubling to wherever they were heading. We must have looked funny from above: a disturbed ant hill may be a cliché, but it described the situation really well.